Anatomy of a Griever

For any scientific or literal people I will ask for your forgiveness because the way that I will use the word "anatomy" deviates slightly (or a great deal) from its technical or literal meaning. I could not find another word that would help to illustrate the meaning behind this blog.
I speak with people all day about the way that death and losing a loved one changes you. I talk to them about the expectations we place on ourselves, how we think we should react and behave a certain way. I make them aware that we also put expectations on those around us to have an amount of grief or understanding that they may not have. I talk to them about how grief affects them on every level. In having these discussions it occurred to me that the changes I was discussing always related to philosophical, spiritual, emotional and short term physical changes. I am becoming aware that in being a support to grieving people I am learning and something that I recently learned is that I did not accommodate for the permanent changes that take place in regard to your senses, memory, perception and how they are physically apparent and how it contributes to your grief journey over the long term.
The only way to make sense of what I am trying to say is to explain it using my own experiences and the awareness I have gained working these past seven months.
I am acutely aware that my sense of smell has changed. I know now that is very closely tied with my memories and how I remember certain things. Vaseline Intensive Care will always remind me of my Grandma. I have a very strong sense of smell (not always a good thing) and when I was losing Flynn there were many different smells that surrounded his dying. At times it is those smells that make me remember or bring comfort to a time when I need to remember. There was the smell of the sterile environment like the alcohol, sanitizer, and staleness of closed windows and doors. The medicinal smell of antibiotics, saline solution, iodine and soap. The metal of the tools in the room seemed to give off an earthy, cold smell that has stuck with me and all of this was mixed with the smell of blood and sweat. At times I have come across these smells and it can bring back a sense of loss or the chaos of the experience, sometimes the smell does not come from something that I can see but rather seems like a form of memory recognition and it allows me to reflect on the memory of the day and take things out of it that are more important than the chaos. This is one of the ways that my anatomy has changed.
I have had some very physical changes, not noticeable to the eye or even with an x-ray. The hole in the middle of my guts, what started as the pit, the insatiable hollow gnawing just above my stomach after Flynn died. Now it is replaced with a scarred over space that if I do not take time to appreciate it, I am reminded of its existence. A doctor would most likely read this and scoff but I felt it for years after Flynn died, it was so physical that there were times I wrenched at my middle trying to fill it or pull it out. It flares up when I am exhausted, when I watch someone hurt, it reminds me, it is another way that I have changed.
My hearing has changed, although there is a bit of a joke in this statement, I do struggle with my actual hearing at times, I mean now I listen for different things, I am not sure that I listened before. I take note of what people are wanting or trying to tell me. I hear them and I respond with sincerity. I hear joy and laughter and I hear sadness and fear, I hear more than the words. I am more aware of inflection and that words are only half of what someone is trying to say.
My arms have undergone a change as well. They hold the most significant memory for me, that of holding Flynn after he was born. He only weighed one pound six ounces, but I remember at the time thinking how substantial he felt in my arms. I am blessed that my arms remember him and at times I feel the weight and warmth of him in my arms like I held him only yesterday, I am so appreciative to have this change to my anatomy especially when my mind struggles to remember the details.
The most meaningful change has been to my heart. I am sure that again, to look at and examine it as a medical profession, it would probably appear the same as any other heart. But it was never so apparent to me that it was a part of my body. I am conscious of its existence now, I feel it beat as a reminder of my life within me. I can feel it swell with love, respect and joy and I also feel the muscles in it tense and move with more force when I am faced with other's pain and sadness. I am so grateful that it has adapted to accommodate my changes, the way that life has grown for me from the moment of tremendous loss to one filled with love and purpose.
It may not be an evidenced part of my anatomy that has changed, it would not qualify as anything that needs to be investigated medically but it is definitely a measured change in my metaphysical anatomy that I have encountered as I work on my journey of grief.

The Stupid F#@king Bird!

Landy came home last night from work in a state, you can always tell when Landy's mood shifts by the black cloud that follows overhead. After the boys went to bed I asked him what was wrong.

"I had a rough day"
"How so?"
"Well it really all started with this Stupid Fucking Bird."

Not something that you would generally expect to hear when recounting a bad day!
Landy proceeded to tell me how a bird had turned a seemingly normal day into one that he would term as rough.

When Landy was driving into work a bird had tried to fly across the road between the vehicle in front of him and himself. When Landy saw the bird attempt the dangerous flight he remembers clenching his stomach and hoping the bird would make it across, as though his stomach muscles would give the bird that little bit extra it may need. As it turned out the bird, realizing it would not make it across, tried to fly up and over Landy's truck and instead smacked into it right above the windshield. After the initial loud thud the bird proceeded to tumble down the length of the truck making hauntingly smaller thuds the whole way down. Landy looked into the rearview mirror to see the bird spiral up and then plummet down into the ditch at the side of the road. As he witnessed the birds final moments he uttered the words "Stupid Fucking Bird."

At home, on the back deck, he recalled the story to me, I quietly said, "looks like that bird won't make it home," there was a moment of silence to which Landy responded "yep that is exactly what I thought and that is when I changed my thinking to Poor Fucking Bird."
"Do you think we have more empathy because of the losses we have experienced?" I asked Landy, I really wanted to know, because I myself found it difficult to not be affected by seeing any living creature harmed or killed, bird or animal.
"I don't know, I think I have always felt this way," Landy added.
"I know I have not always been this way," I concluded aloud,"I may have never thought twice about the animal that lay dead at the side of the road, or the turtle slowly heading into traffic or the goose with the goslings eating the grass next to the curb of the four lane highway. But now I fret for the turtle that may not make it across or worry about the goose if one of the goslings tumbles into traffic, I wonder if they experience loss."
"Stupid Fucking Bird" was all that Landy uttered.
Maybe he was right, better to not add to the list of loss on our plate and hope that it was only a Stupid Fucking Bird.

A rant about Intimacy

Although the title of this blog may have tweaked the interest of some of my followers, this is not about sex! But please keep reading!
This blog is about how we are at a place in society where it is not considered imposing on ones privacy to say to a practical stranger a comment like "wow there is a lot of space between your kids" or "he's a handful and you wanted more?" and how about "three huh? SO are you done then?"
We recently became proud parents of an All Star baseball player and that has meant that we are now meeting new people (other parents on the team) who we are having to spend a great deal of time with and become acquainted.
I will concede that I am sometimes awkward with this as I am always aware that outward appearances can be quite different from real life and so I take time to get to know someone and I am gentle in my approach. Unfortunately I am amazed how intrusive and even rude other people can be in the way that they try to "break the ice."
In all seriousness and it is serious when I tell you that the above three comments have been said to me by three separate moms on the team over the past month. They did not sense that it was inappropriate, hurtful or too soon in a developing "relationship" to say such things.
I wonder how shocked they would be if I responded with "Space? I had them 3 years apart, one just died" or "A handful sometimes, but alive and well, a blessing, " or "Four actually and there will always be a hole no matter how many children I am blessed to have."
Instead I just smile politely, say nothing and move away from these mothers. I am sure that they feel that I am the one who is rude and in fairness perhaps I am a little rude. I am at peace with that perception because possibly there is a scar that they are hiding from me. I will respectfully take time and allow them to get to know me and decide what and if they would like to share so that we can make allowances for the scars.

Seven Year Old Toddler

I was recently thrown off guard when an acquaintance, hearing that Flynn had died 7 years ago, asked me if I pictured a seven year old when I thought of him?
I really needed to think about that, I don't know if I had even thought about what he looked like since he was born. What did that mean, did it speak to how I grieved or what type of mom I was? Should I be trying to picture a version of him at an age he should have been, had he lived? Do other mothers visualize their children at ages and milestones, can they age the last visual memory they have of their children and if so, why couldn't I? This was one of those moments when I needed to allow myself to be just Flynn's mom and find what felt best and made the most sense for me.
My acquaintance stood patiently as I searched for the answer.
"To be honest, he was only a baby in the delivery room, once he had passed away and the funeral was over Landy and I pictured him as a toddler because at the time Rhys was almost 3 and we really felt that we had lost getting to know Flynn as an infant, baby and toddler, the way we knew Rhys."
I was not sure that this explanation sounded sane, the woman shook her head in acceptance but I felt I needed to continue to explain.
"I think having Rhys, we wanted to have another child, while I was pregnant we pictured a child growing up with and like Rhys because at the time he was the only child that we knew. Flynn has always remained a 3 year old to me."
The woman thanked me for my honesty and for allowing her to ask, I should have thanked her for opening up a dialogue with myself so that I could be comfortable with my memories.
When and if I picture Flynn, he has a head full of wavy, dark reddish hair with a chubby face, narrow nose, almond eyes and full red lips, he is tall for his age but solid, everything about him looks chubby and healthy, he looks the most like Landy of all the boys and he is 3.
He is and will always be my second son, Rhys's first brother and our family's angel.

My Job Restrictions

A few weeks ago Ash, my four year old, came home from junior kindergarden with a note from his teacher, they were looking for parent's to come in and discuss their job to the 60 kindergarden students at the school. Ash wondered if I would go, he wanted me to talk to the class about how I helped people to stop crying. I read the note from the teacher, it was a generic letter to all parents, the class was doing a unit on people in the community and they wanted all different types of jobs to come in and speak, the examples were police officers, firefighters, secretary, etc.
I was hesitant about volunteering, I am very comfortable speaking in public but I was not sure how to explain my job to children. I don't remember ever explaining it in detail to Ash and yet his assumptions of my job were quite sweet.
I had just attended a conference that discussed speaking with children about death and how important it was to include them in the conversations. I subscribed to this belief and I could apply it to this opportunity to talk with 4-6 year olds about my job. I decided to tell the children that when someone dies, the people who loved them are very sad and sometimes need help to feel better and that by talking and sharing with me, it is a start to them coping. I wrote the teacher a short note, letting her know the organization that I worked for, my position and what I could talk about and asked that she get back to me if she would like me to speak.
It was a week before I received a response and it came in the form of a letter penned on very pretty paper, this is what it said:

Thank you for so kindly offering to speak to the Kindergarden class about your job. Although I am sure that your job is important for the families that you serve, the principal and I do not feel the topic of death is an appropriate one for 4-6 year olds.

Thank you Again

I read the letter quite a few times, trying to pen a response, I wish that the
topic of death were not appropriate for 4-6 year olds. I know one 4 year
old in her class who has first hand experience with the topic of death and I was sure there was more. It struck me that it was the teacher and the principal that were not comfortable with the topic of death and I felt sad for them. Death is so much more difficult to handle when its very existence is denied. I guess that is part of my job, to educate and normalize people to grief and the part of my job that comes with restrictions is that some people will not want to know that I exist.